


Turbulence

by LeotheLionathefootofOrion



Category: The Agency (TV 2001)
Genre: F/M, Grief, M/M, mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 19:06:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17883572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeotheLionathefootofOrion/pseuds/LeotheLionathefootofOrion
Summary: After the event of Terri’s death, Lex struggles to deal with life without her. The fact that he’s lost Stiles doesn’t help matters, nor do the pressures of work at the CIA. Slowly, though, he manages to deal with the feelings he’s always tried to repress – not without a few bumps in the road.A story of grief, regret and love, in which a man fights to live when death seems like the most welcome thing.





	Turbulence

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thanks for reading my entry to the NGRB 2019! It was a joy to work on the fic, and to work alongside RevWinchester, a super talented artist! The art should be embedded in the fic if all goes to plan, but tumblr links to AO3 can be dodgy so here’s the proper good old fashioned url just in case everything goes wrong! Thanks again to everyone who’s helped along the way and especially thank you Rev!
> 
> https://revwinchester.tumblr.com/post/182975872903/author-gabessquishytum-artist-revwinchester

TURBULENCE

     

Lex parks his bike up against the gate, letting the engine die out into silence while he sits still. It’s twilight, a warm evening with the barest of breezes brushing through the trees. It’s kind of beautiful in a sad way, but Lex doesn’t think about it. Because beauty, even of the sad kind, seems rather meaningless now. Steadying himself, Lex climbs slowly from the bike and begins to remove his helmet, shaking out his hair. It’s getting long again, almost brushing against his shoulders. He grimaces and pushes the locks off his face. Remembering to do normal, daily stuff - like making an appointment with a barber, for example - has become weirdly difficult recently. Perhaps he ought to take the scissors into his own hands for once.

The cemetery has been closed for half an hour already. Lex always comes at this time. He can’t deal with his grief with anyone else around. So, his visits are dark and covert. Private.

From the box attached to his bike he produces a half empty wine bottle and two plastic glasses. He pushes these items carefully between the metal bars of the gate. Being small and slight (smaller, slighter than he’s been or felt before... perhaps he has been neglecting himself) gives him at least one advantage. He shimmies up and over the tall metal gate in seconds and lands silently on his feet, on the other side. He shudders slightly, the memory of the first time he’d pulled that stunt pouring into his brain unbidden. He’d landed on his hands and knees, pain had lanced through every fibre of his body. As if being there hadn’t been bad enough.

He collects his bottle and moves off quietly before he can begin to think too hard. He knows the way without thinking about it now - across the smooth damp grass and through a patch of soft willow-brushed darkness, past the gurgling fountain and behind the raised flower bed. His feet follow the path and he finds himself there before he knows it. And there she is.

Terri’s tree is a silver birch, still young and slim, supported by a slight wooden frame. Her brother had picked the birch and Lex - well, he couldn’t think of anything better to represent her. He sits in his usual spot on the grass and reaches out a hand, brushing over the smooth bark by way of a ‘Hello’.

There had been no body to bury. It had made things worse, somehow. Even now Lex trembles to think that he’d never really been able to say goodbye. These days he finds her face slipping away from him sometimes and he can hardly even recall what her voice was like. He thinks, perhaps if he’d seen her once more, even in death.... But there is no use in dwelling over what can’t be. Her family had planted the tree by way of a monument, and there was a small plaque with her name on to remember her by too. Lex reaches out and traces the letters, her birthday, the day she died.

Before he can get too morose, he pours the wine into the two glasses. One he takes for himself, the other he places at the base of the tree’s slim base. He tilts his glass towards the stars (they are beginning to glimmer, Venus is shining in the lower sky) and whispers her name softly. He drinks, and closes his eyes, and tries to remember her face.

Resting his cheek against the rough wood of the stake which supports Terri’s tree, he stares blankly across the darkening space. The first time he had come, the darkness had frightened him. The idea of being alone in the night with the dead had been too much to bear. Now the thought brings him comfort rather than fear. At least the dead can do nothing to hurt him. He wonders what Stiles would think of his new-found courage.

The pain, when it hits, is unexpected. He avoids thinking about Stiles as much as he can, denying even the knowledge that the man had once existed. Terri’s death is too much, adding another loss the mix has him reeling. Officially, he has no right to grieve for Stiles yet - according to the files he is only missing. Therefore there can be no mourning, no funeral, no comfort of knowing that he’s resting at last. Lex pulls his arms tight around his chest and shudders. There is no doubt in his mind that Stiles is dead. But the knowledge will bring him no comfort until the time comes for everyone to give up hope.

At last Lex finds the strength to pick himself up from the ground. The air has grown cold and he shivers, picking up the two glasses and the bottle. He pours the wine in the second glass carefully into the soil at the bases of the tree - not next to the roots (he isn’t quite sure what effect the alcohol might have on the tree’s growth), but a little further out. It’s become a kind of ritual for him and it grounds him somehow. He takes one last, long look at Terri’s tree before he begins to walk away. Somehow saying goodbye gets harder every time he visits.

 

The drive back to his apartment is long, but he’s just grateful to have Terri so close to him. He’d expected her family to have her memorial in her home town, or somewhere closer and more convenient for them. Instead, they had chosen the burial ground just outside the city. Her brother had claimed it felt more fitting for her to rest in the city she’d loved and worked in for so long. Her brother visits every month, and sometimes he and Lex meet for coffee. It feels good to talk to someone who actually understands his grief.

He’s not ashamed to say that he loves his new apartment. He’d moved out of the old place after Terri died - there were too many memories of her to be confronted by. He lives at the top, just under the penthouse, in a spacious apartment with every modern convenience and a large, open balcony that looks over the city. He’s spent many a long night sitting or standing on that balcony, watching the night fade into a blazing dawn. That view, and the knowledge that there are thousands of other people out there suffering just as much as him, has kept him relatively sane. That, and the fact that he still has his work to live for.

There had been weeks of assessment before he’d let him back into the fold. First, to make sure that he hadn’t been in on Joshua’s plans, and secondly to monitor his mental state. The weeks of psychological analysis had left him cold and drained. Now he only goes for his grief counselling because it’s written into his contract. It’s a small price to pay - he still has his job and he can still make a difference. The psychiatrist can call him an ‘emotionally repressed borderline chronic depressive’ all she likes - he’s certainly been called worse.

At first, he was angry. He’d never been so angry in all his life. It burned inside – anger towards Joshua, to all the bastards who’d ruined his life. Anger (and he was ashamed to admit it sometimes) towards Terri, for leaving. He’s not angry now, though. Too tired for that.

He parks his bike in the usual spot and drags himself into the building. He’s always exhausted after visiting Terri and tonight is no different. At least it means he’ll get some sleep, even for a few hours. There’s nothing like exhaustion to keep the nightmares at bay.

He credits his tiredness with the fact that he doesn’t notice anything wrong for several minutes after he enters his apartment. He hangs up his jacket and kicks off his shoes, ready to throw himself lengthways on the couch before dragging himself off to bed. It’s only as he sinks into the soft leather of the couch, that he hears a soft (barely there) noise. A creak on the hardwood floorboards in the hall that leads down to his bedroom. Suddenly alert, he listens - and it’s the deathly silence that follows, which tells him that he’s not alone.

Silent in his socked feet, he slips from the couch and treads softly over the floor to the door, which leads out into the lobby. On the hook beside it hangs his jacket, and it’s to this he heads, sliding one hand into the folds of the fabric. His fingers close around solid metal and he draws it out slowly. The pocket-pistol is his own personal weapon (definitely not CIA issue, he doubts that they know he owns it). Before Terri’s death he’d kept it locked in the bedside cabinet, they all used to tease him because he refused to carry a gun (“The Right To Bear Arms is outdated and you all know it. Unless you’re thinking of forming your own militia, I think I’m gonna stick to nerf bullets’”). Now he carries it just about everywhere. He’s learned the hard way that he can’t be too careful.

He primes the pistol and raises it, arms out with the gun pointed into the shadows at the entrance of the hall. His hands don’t shake when his finger slides against the trigger. He thinks maybe he should clear his throat, but he doesn’t want to give - whoever it is - any warning. Instead he takes a few steps forward and stands firmly with the gun still trained into the hall.

“I know you’re there.” He somehow makes his voice crisp, commanding. He’s never quite managed it before but it comes naturally now. “Please step into the light. I’m armed.”

The shock, when it comes, hits him physically like a blow the chest. He feels unnaturally winded and almost takes an involuntary step backwards. Only the fact that he’s frozen to the spot keeps him from trembling - his finger is steady as a rock over the trigger.

“Come on Lex. Put it down.” There’s a beat of silence wherein Lex doesn’t move, only stares straight ahead. 

“Come on. It’s me. Put the damn thing down, ok?”

Lex doesn’t blink as he moves his arms. He’s quietly astonished by the steadiness of his hands. Finally, he stops the slow movement, satisfied. He keeps his finger against the trigger and points the weapon directly between Stiles’ eyes.

Stiles, for his part, looks perturbed by Lex’s action. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other and glances toward the door. He looks - terrible. Lex has seen him after missions before but never like this. His eyes have sunk into his face and he looks haunted. There’s a scar on his neck that wasn’t there before. He’s lost weight. He’s smaller than Lex can ever remember him being. Something deep inside Lex bites with satisfaction to see him so reduced.

“Are we gonna do this all night? Cause if we are d’you mind if I at least sit down? It’s been a long-“

“Shut up.” Lex keeps his voice crisp. Professional. Neutral. Stiles closes his mouth and glances again towards the door.

“Lex, please. I’m tired as hell, can we just stop playing this dumb game and-“

“Shut. Up.” 

Layer by layer, Lex feels his self control begin to peel away. The tightness coiled up inside him is unwinding and for the first time, his hands start to tremble. He flicks his eyes away from Stiles for a moment and draws a ragged breath.

“You knew.” He whispers, choking on the words like acid. “I never even imagined but of course. You knew all along. So you got outta the way when the dirt got raked up. And now you think it’s ok the just, swan back in like the hero you’ve always been.”

Stiles balks, staring first at Lex then towards the door.  
“Come on, dude. You’re talking a load of-“

“Shut up!” Lex roars. His face contorts as the words spit out of his body like fire. He nearly drops the gun as his knees half buckle. Will power alone keeps him standing.

“You killed her!” He screams loud enough to wake the whole city. Stiles flinches back and Lex crumbles in on himself, the gun falling with a soft thud onto the floor. He finds himself rocking back and forth like a child, a madman, clawing and his chest like he can rip his heart out and feel nothing again. It all feels like a bad Dickflick, like something he’d watch at 3am, drunk and half laughing.

Stiles watches in silence before dropping to his knees a metre away.

“I didn’t know.” He says firmly - although his voice is so raw, he sounds as though he’s been choking on dirt. “I didn’t know about any of it, no more than you did, or Terri did.” He falters at her name and Lex flinches.

“Okay, yes. I ran after Terri got taken down. I was... in shock. I ran right out of that mess right into another. I was taken prisoner. That’s where I’ve been this whole time. I didn’t know anything about it, I haven’t been hiding, I swear to you on her name. I was taken by some mad group of guys who wanted a pet CIA agent. I spent the last few months in the desert.”

Lex refuses to look up. He wants to curl into himself and sink deep into the ground. But he listens as Stiles keeps talking. He has no other choice.

“They didn’t want me as a hostage. I was just - a trophy. They put me in a cage and treated me as a dog to kick. I was their prize to show off whenever anyone important came to call. Not that anybody ever did... Anyway. The leader of the group had a kid. About fourteen, kinda scrawny. He looked like he’d be better off in a library than an underground bunker. The leader put his kid in charge of me to test his strength or whatever. I started talking to the kid. I thought he might be my way out. Somehow I’d clung onto my sanity for all that time and now fate had given me this chance.

“He was a good kid. You wouldn’t believe how willing he was to listen to me lying through my teeth about my non-existent wife and kids. Hell, I even invented a dog. He liked that best of all. It took me a stupidly small amount of time to convince him to let me go.”

Stiles rubs at his eyes. Exhaustion is pouring off him in waves but he stays almost completely still, crouched on the floor near to Lex.

“That was all it took. A kid, a key, and the only armoured car in a fifty mile radius. Just that, to come back to a world with Terri dead and you trying to shoot me down the minute we’re reunited.” He laughs harshly. 

“Kind of wish I’d stayed out there to die instead.”

Lex drags his hand through his hair slowly, as though every nerve in his body rebels against the movement. It’s too much for him to take in. Instinctively, he believes what Stiles is saying, but... He almost finds that he doesn’t want to believe.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” Stiles whispers, tone changing as he catches Lex’s eye. “I’m sorry you had to go through all this on your own. Believe me, if I could’ve been there I would’ve been. But I really am sorry.”

Lex feels the remaining pieces of his heart crumbling into dust. He has nothing left to give, no anger, no pain, not even the blessed relief of numbness. He has only the balm of forgiveness left to him.

He crawls like a baby across his floor to where Stiles is crouched, and buries his face against the other man’s shoulder. The last thing he thinks he feels is Stiles’ arm coming around his body and holding him closer than he can ever recollect being held before.

 

“I missed you.” Lex murmurs into Stiles’ chest nearly an hour later, when they’ve relocated onto the couch. Both have clung to each other religiously for the entire time, unwilling to let go for even a moment. It pains Lex to feel how breakable Stiles is now - he was always so solid and immovable. Lex wonders how he will ever recover. He keeps drawing his hand, back and forward, over Stiles’ collarbone where it juts out under his thin tshirt. It feels weird to touch him there, but not in the way Lex would have expected. Stiles doesn’t seem to mind, in fact, he leans into every little touch and lets his chest heave up and down beneath Lex’s hand.

“I missed you too, punk.” Stiles murmurs back in a thick voice, almost tearful. “God, I’m gonna miss you even more when I go...”

Lex doesn’t register the words at first, but they finally make their way into the centre of his exhausted brain and he looks up. “Huh?”

“I’m not sticking around Lex. I’m sorry. I can’t go back there again.” Stiles is frank, softly spoken - but firm. Lex wants to argue but instead, he leans closer and presses his face against his friend’s shoulder.

“I understand.”

“You could come with me.” Stiles doesn’t specify as to where he’s going but Lex guesses that he must have a plan – he always does. That’s just how he is, and God, is Lex going to miss that. Because he knows he can’t leave.

“No, Stiles. I couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

They both nod in mutual understanding and respect - and the conversation is over.

 

Stiles leaves the next morning, and Lex promises not to say anything to anyone about it. Deep down he’s happy that Stiles is escaping from at least part of the hell they’ve both been living in. He isn’t angry, just sad to see his friend leaving once again. But he’s used to losing people now and the sadness crashes over him in familiar, harmless waves.

He thinks about taking Stiles to see Terri’s tree, but ultimately changes his mind. They don’t promise to call or to write, the mutual understanding is that they will never see each other again. Lex can’t deal with a visit to the cemetery on top of all that. Losing Stiles forever is enough for one day.

So he says goodbye to the man he’d somehow found himself loving, and settles down to grieve for the good they could have done each other. He’s used to it. He’ll be fine, he always is.

 

Lex finds himself counting. Counting the experiences he has after Terri’s death in the months that follow. The mundane things. His first cup of coffee, his first bike ride, his first hack. The first time he has sex.

She’s just an intern. But she’s eager to talk to anyone and everyone, and when Lex gives her a stack of papers to file she stops by his desk, perching right on the edge with her legs swinging - and stays there for a while. Lex is astounded by how easy he finds ‘going through the motions’. Something instinctual in him does all the hard work and he only has to smile and let her talk for a while. She’s ready to fall into his arms after half an hour (that’s what it feels like anyway).

They have coffee, and they have dinner, and much later on Lex finds himself embalmed in the soft sheets of his bed with her tucked gently under his arm. Her breathing is soft, her hair is splayed over the pillow, and she seems about as happy as Lex could hope.

She looks up at him and smiles. “Everything ok? You’re quiet.”

He lets his hand trail carefully over her cheek. “Mmm, just feeling appreciative. It’s been a little while.”

She’s quiet for a little while, tracing a pattern on his chest while he strokes her arm in turn. When she looks at him again, her face is sad and he begins to wonder what he could have done wrong. But before he can ask, she starts to speak again.

“I heard something about you, around at work. I guess it’s rumour and I don’t really pay much attention to those but... Now I’ve spoken to you and, well, you know...” She laughs softly. “I kind of want to know if it’s true.”

Lex’s mind goes into momentary overdrive, wondering what the rumour could possibly be. And then he remembers that he isn’t just the little techie anymore, and that since Terri’s death, he has become an object of acute interest. He sighs softly and wonders if he will ever be allowed to forget.

“It’s true. The woman I loved died and the closest person I’ve ever really had to a best friend disappeared without trace. I really am the office freak.” He doesn’t mean to sound quite so bitter, but even to his own ears his voice is far too harsh. He can’t help it. He just wishes so badly that it could have been someone else, instead of him.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers into his neck. “She must’ve been a lucky woman, to be loved by you.”

Palpably surprised, Lex finds himself half smiling. “I don’t think she ever really knew how I felt honestly. And although it’s kind of you to say.... It was probably for the best that she and I didn’t get involved. I’m kind of notorious for messing stuff up, especially with women.”

It’s the truth, but he puts enough meaning into his voice to let her know that he’s warning her not get attached. She laughs softly.

“I got you, no office romance for us. I’m hoping though... that maybe we can do friends?”

Lex pulls her tight against him and nods.

“Friends sounds really good.”

It’s the first time he’s felt human - the first time he’s found himself wanting to be human, to be flesh and blood rather than a sack of grief and bitten out anger - ever since he lost Terri. Even with Stiles he hadn’t felt any particular call back to life and the real world. Now, with this girl lying in his arms, he feels like maybe his life shouldn’t be over yet.

 

Two nights afterward, in the cold clear light of the emerging dawn, he finds himself standing out on his balcony, hands clasping onto the railing in front of him. His body if breathing of its own accord, pulling in gasp after gasp of frozen air. It’s not enough to stop his lungs from constricting, aching. The dizziness refuses to subside. 

The city winks up at him mockingly, with all its bright lights and eternal suffering. Moments elapse like days and each shiver exerted upon his body seems to last a year. He thinks he might be whimpering but then again it’s hard to distinguish what is part of him, and what is part of the air rushing past his ears.

The desire to throw himself face first into the wind grows stronger with each painful breath his body insists on taking. Before this moment, he’s been far too much of a coward to ever do more than think about death. Now he has forgotten how to be afraid, he can only remember how to hurt. To feed his body and mind to the maw of the city would be nothing but a relief to him now.

He’s never really felt real enough to want death, but the weight of everything in the world seems to have come crashing down on his shoulders in the span of the past two days. Life has become far too tangible and death is the only solution to the puzzle. He can picture his body floating down like a discarded piece of clothing, onto the solid base of the sidewalk. To be swept up by the street cleaners and the passage of time. The thought fills him with a shocking rush of pleasure until his grasp on the rail in front of him loosens.

His body does the only thing it can to preserve life in that moment. It imitates death, and blacks out.

 

“Why did you try to kill yourself, Lex?”

The psych evaluation seems to have lasted an age, and the questions have become increasingly explicit as he refuses to answer - well, refuses to give the answer they clearly want from him. Lex stares at his palms where they rest face up on the table top and wishes he’d never bothered with being born.

“I didn’t try to kill myself.” He repeats for what feels like the fifteenth time. “I blacked out on my balcony. So what.”

“You blacked out on your balcony after taking an interesting concoction of sleeping medication, anti-depressants and alcohol. Don’t tell me you were just going through the motions of your average evening - even if you weren’t planning on jumping, you’d made pretty well sure that you wouldn’t make it through the night.”

Lex kind of likes this doctor chick. She certainly does speak her mind. It’s better than being treated like some sick puppy. All the same, he’d rather be a million miles away from her right now.

His cleaner had found him in the early hours of the morning, blue with cold and hardly breathing at all. They told him she’d been just in time to save his life. That it was a miracle that he was still living. Lex’s immediate instinct is to call bullshit on the whole thing, but he’d sent the cleaner a bunch of roses anyway, since his mama raised him to be polite.

“Is it work? Is it too much for you? Many people in high pressure jobs have similar issues, you know that.” She’s persistent, this doctor. Kind of cute in the right light. Maybe if she let her hair down rather than tying it up...

“...Survivors guilt?”

He looks at his hands still lying on the table. They don’t feel like they belong to him. His entire body feels clinical ever since the hospital, the stomach pump, the IV drips and the life support wires. The wires had made him feel sick from the start, they’d reminded him too much of...

“If she’s dead, then why should I be alive?”

It doesn’t feel as good to say it out loud as it should. The weight doesn’t leave his shoulders. The doctor’s eyes don’t soften.

“Because you are. Because she was the one strapped to that vest. Because you’re still here, living in your apartment, going to work, living. Because you are alive, Lex, and that’s just how it is now.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” He mutters back. It sounds petulant even to his own ears but he’s past the point of care now.

“No. But it should be.”

Five words that make the universe sound so very simple. Except they aren’t living in a Doris Day movie, and what should be and what can be are so very distinct in Lex’s mind.

“I don’t want to be here.” He whispers. And he isn’t talking about the pokey doctor’s office, with it’s scratched up table and wide mirrors which show him just what a shadow of him he’s become.

“I know.” She brushes her fingers over his. “But it won’t always be like this.”

 

She lays him off work - enforced medical leave. A couple of whispers go around the office and suddenly everybody seems to know exactly what happened, where and why. Lex envies them because he still doesn’t have a clue what’s going on. At least - the doctor thinks he might try to do it again, but he knows he won’t. He’s over it.

The intern girl - Millie, her name is Millie - calls him a couple of times, and he chats to her quietly and entirely without feeling. She seems to understand, but Lex is too tired to ask why or how. She asks him his plans a couple of times, and he honestly wishes he could give her a straight answer. His days have been restricted, to sitting on his balcony (completely harmless now), drinking too much coffee and watching too much TV. 

Millie makes all the effort, and somehow it feels good to have someone putting in 100% to his 0. All the selfish feelings bubble under his skin, all the bitterness of not being loved back. He takes a vicious pleasure in pushing her away and then regrets it each time, apologising over and over until she laughs at him and drags him out of his apartment.

“You’re going crazy up there. You need to get out.” Millie tells him, wrapping her arm around him. “Come to my place, at least.”

He does it, only to make her happy. He lets her drag him around, feeling like a puppet with an empty head. She wants him to fall in love with her, and while he’s pathetically grateful for everything she does, he knows it’s not going to happen. He tells her straight to her face but she doesn’t seem to care. He can’t help but admire the way she shakes it off. Dances it off, and pulls him into her arms anyway.

He wants to get away, but he can’t find the strength within himself. So he stays still. It doesn’t feel much like a life, but by now he knows the correct answer to all the questions the doctor might like to ask him. She seems to be under the impression that he’s getting better.

He just feels quiet.

 

He doesn’t know what makes him do it. He doesn’t know what wakes him from the sleep he seems to have been trapped in for all that time. He only knows that he’s awake, now, and desperate to move.

He’s on the interstate in no time at all, and although he’s ridden his bike there before he feels afraid of death for the first time in weeks. It feels bizarrely good to be so scared. He realises belatedly, that perhaps he really never wanted to die in the first place.

He rides for hours, until it hurts, until he’s out of gas and out of breath and he barely has the strength to stand. He checks into a gritty motel, ignoring the roach footprints (at least this time, he doesn’t have to share a bed with Stiles). The internet connection is substandard but Lex has always been able to work through stupid stuff like that with practical ease.

Laughable, too, is the time it takes him to find out where Stiles is. He knows the guy far too well, clearly. That, or he’s left a trail the size of Florida on purpose. Whatever the reason, Lex smiles quietly to himself, and decides that the CIA better pray hard that he never goes rouge. It’s the first burst of real pride he’s felt in months.

 

“I didn’t think it’d take you this long to show up.” Stiles remarks, when Lex alights (almost falls, to be perfectly honest) from his bike and flops down a log next to his friend, wincing. Driving through the back country roads had been hell on his ass.

“Yeah, well.” Lex pants slightly. “Had some stuff to work through. You know how it is.” He gives Stiles a crooked smile and stretches his legs out.

“You decide not to kill yourself, then?” Guarded, and strangely neutral, Stiles doesn’t look at him as he speaks. It’s not really a question - and Lex of course doesn’t answer. He doesn’t ask how Stiles knew, or why. He just knocks his knee against Stiles’ and smiles again. This time it looks real, feels real too.

“Well come on then, farmer A.B. Show me around the damn place. And please, tell me you at least have a phone connection?”

Stiles cuffs him around the head, pulls him against his chest, and hugs him like it’s going to be the last thing he ever does. Lex sinks into it, melting and letting every emotion seep out from deep inside him until he feels clean and calm. Stiles ruffles his hair. Life is sweet.

 

Lex had never exactly imagined Stiles living the farming life, but it seems to work ok for him. He already looks better - better than Lex, anyway. He’s got more land than he knows what to do with (all of which he’s somehow managing to conceal from the CIA, Lex excluded). He doesn’t seem to do much of the farming himself but he appears to appreciate the lifestyle. Lex is sure he personally wouldn’t be able to survive five minutes running the place, but he’s never dealt well with real responsibility. Hiding behind a computer screen is one thing, sticking your entire arm up a cow’s ass is another thing entirely.

Stiles, though. He seems to revel in it. Lex sees him smile more than he ever has before. Somehow he’s managing to put everything behind him and Lex wishes he knew the secret.

 

Maybe it’s the fresh country air and the lack of pressure constantly pounding down on his brain, but Lex learns how to breathe again. It’s painfully hard at first, but his lungs start to open up to the air. And suddenly one day, he’s breathing without thinking, laughing without meaning to. Smiling without worrying about the consequences. Stiles has found the cure and somehow, it’s working for them both. It feels like a miracle. He thinks he should call Millie but he can’t bring himself to break the spell. Making contact with the outside world just seems like a bad idea. 

Weeks pass like waves. They do stupid, normal, movie-trope stuff. Stiles gets him drunk in a hay-barn and threatens to leave him there for the night. Lex finally get Stiles on the back of his bike and they ride around like children, only stopping to fall off and laugh themselves to death. They learn things about each other.

“You ever kiss a guy?” Stiles gives him a stupid, gross look and Lex has to look away and giggle before he can answer.

“Well, duh. I went to MIT.”

“Well, true, I guess. I once blew a teacher for extra credit in high school, so I guess I can’t really talk.”

“Gross!”

And Lex remembers how good physicality - touching somebody who actually feels something about him - can feel. The hole in his heart is filled up with leaning on Stiles, with holding his hand and wrestling in the hay.

He hates himself for it but he can feel the cynicism dropping off him. He can feel himself appreciating the little things. He feels like he’s being stripped down to a better version of himself and although it hurts as each layer falls away it feels good, too.

It takes them a while to get around to talking about Terri. Her presence is always there, but it’s always unspoken. Neither feel quite ready to go there, until suddenly - Lex finds that he is ready. Everything he wants to say is building up inside his heart and he needs to get it out before something happens, and he doesn’t get the chance. Stiles doesn’t complain when Lex sits him down, quiet and serious. He understands somehow.

“I always wanted to ask you.” Lex murmurs, pressing his hands together and looking down at the floor. “Did you love her, or was it just...?”

Stiles tilts his head up and stares at the ceiling. He’s silent for a long time.

“I didn’t love her in the way that you did.” He replies finally, letting his eyes settle on Lex’s face. It’s an honest answer. Lex appreciates that. 

“And Terri, did she love you?” He finds it surprisingly easy to ask the question that’s been gnawing into his heart for so many years.

“No.” This time Stiles doesn’t hesitate even for a breath. “She didn’t.” He gives Lex a long look. “I wish I could say that it was because she was secretly, hopelessly in love with you but...”

Lex barks out a laugh. “Yeah, no. That wouldn’t be true. Believe me, I know unrequited love when I feel it. Felt it.” 

Past tense still feels weird. 

Stiles pulls him close and Lex leans into him, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat, unbroken moment after moment.

“I think I need to go.” Lex says eventually. It’s impossible for him to disguise the heavy reluctance in his voice. Stiles doesn’t respond but there’s nothing for him to say, really. So they sit silent, staring straight ahead. Ensconced in each other’s arms.

 

He rides away on his bike three days later. He’s finally had the haircut he’s been putting off for weeks. He looks less skeletal thanks to Stiles and his surprising talents as a chef. He feels calmed, warmed by the time they spent together. The freeway doesn’t even feel so terrifying. He feels almost ready to go back home.

 

The doctor stares at him, her mouth slightly open. Her lipstick is slightly smudged at the edges of her mouth and Lex considers mentioning it - but he holds his tongue. Waits for her to speak because she’s clearly got something to say to him.

“You’re looking good.” She manages, finally. Lex smiles at her (he’s learned how to smile, rather than smirk. Somehow it feels more real.) and leans back in his chair.

“Thank you. So are you. You did something with your hair, right?”

Her hand drifts up to her shoulder, brushing her fingers over her dark hair. She’s kept it down rather than pulling it up into that tight bun, and it really does suit her. She smiles back at Lex, then finally takes command of her expression and looks seriously at him.

“Lex, why did you run off like that? You had everybody worried about you. You should have let somebody know.” She folds her hands in front of her. “If you were overwhelmed, you could have come in, talked to me. You know that’s why I’m here.”

“I know.” Lex replies, straightening in his chair. “And I’m sorry. But I wasn’t ready for that, it wouldn’t have done me any good. I think you know that.”

She inclines her head slightly in acceptance of his words.

“So where did you go?” She asks. She sounds genuinely curious. Lex takes a deep breath.

“I had to get out for a while. All those meds and the talking and the therapy, it just made me feel so empty. Like I say, I wasn’t ready for all that. I needed...” He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to find the words.

“There was somebody I needed to see, questions I needed answering. Before I could get on with this.” He spreads his hands and gives her a raw smile. “That’s the truth.”

She studies him for a long moment, then bows her head and looks down at the paperwork in front of her. She doesn’t know what to make of him, that much is plain.

“Okay.” She says finally. “Are you ready to face this? To try to get better?”

It doesn’t take Lex long to find an answer. He simply nods, smiles again. And it really is the truth.

 

The medication starts to make some sort of a difference. The doctor switches his pills, and instead of giving him that heavy empty feeling, they fill him up. Emotions start to work in the way they used to. He regains some kind of equilibrium. His brain might be a mess, but it’s an ordered mess.

Three weeks after he comes back from his sojourn with Stiles, they lose somebody.

It’s nobody’s fault. They all try their best, God knows. Lex is effective as he’s ever been, at least the grief hasn’t killed his skill.

Lex didn’t know him all that well. He never mixed with many of the hard-core field agents. But he remembers Brett from Christmas parties and occasional stupid office pranks. It hurts, unexpectedly. Even though Brett was blond, and probably a casual misogynist (not that Lex has anything against blonds, but the way his hair was plastered down onto his head always gave him the creeps), it makes Lex feel something to know that he’s dead. It’s a shock to the system.

And then, just half an hour later, they tell him they want him to board the next flight to El Salvador.

They want him to infiltrate some gang or other – all Lex knows is that it’s pretty dangerous (something to do with Brett’s death), and that he’ll have to fly. And that he’s one other stressful factor away from a breakdown. If anyone notices anything they don’t say so.

He’s driven to the airport, luggage in tow with his headphones firmly secured around his neck. He can feel his body clenching up even before his flight is called, and he can’t stop thinking about Stiles. The last time they were on a plane together, the last time he flew out on a mission. The care-package he put together for Terri. It all clogs together in his brain, fractured memories spiral off each other until he’s sure he’s about to cry. There are a hundred missions and situations, all blurring into each other until he’s not sure what the real sequence of events was. 

He boards the plane, crashes down in his seat and orders himself as much alcohol as they’ll let him have. Having his headphones clamped over his ears almost helps silence the turmoil but once, he reaches out his hand (expecting to find Stiles. Like last time). There’s nobody there and his hand closes around empty air. He has to swallow a sob. 

The flight time ends up somewhere close to five hours, and they touch down safely on the runway at sunset. Lex gets a police escort at the airport, since he’s officially cooperating with the government. He tries not to let on that his brain is spinning out of control from whiskey and grief and stress, but he sees them exchanging amused glances. Still, they treat him nicely. He gets a hotel room (the senior police officer makes a snide comment about the well-stocked mini bar) and after his briefing, he’s free to do what he needs to do. It’s more than he’s ever got from his own government.

He stares out of the large window, watching light after light flicker into life. The beauty of it all sends waves crashing into his chest. Terri would have counted the stars. Terri would have told him about the constellations, knowing that he already knew but revelling in the sharing of knowledge. Terri would have traced patterns over the city streets and kissed his cheek before saying goodnight.

He takes his medication before he slips beneath the bedsheets in the darkness. His phone lies on the bedside table and he reaches for it in a moment of untethered madness. Terri’s number is still there.

He holds the phone close to his ear and dials the number. The soft ring of each number going through comforts him somehow. And then there’s a long silence. 

No recorded message to tell him that the number no longer exists. No jarring jolt cutting him off. Just quiet, warm waves of silence dripping into his ear moment by moment. 

“I love you.” He murmurs. His own voice sounds so strange, he wonders if it’s a sign. A sign that he’s stopped recognising himself.

He hangs up, tucks his phone under his pillow. Rolls over, and falls asleep.

 

The job in El Salvador is tough, but it isn’t the worst thing Lex has had to deal with. He’s more than a match for a few teenagers holed up in an old car parking facility. He gets the usual rush of pleasure when he gets in there, when the code starts to feel right. 

They give him an assistant, although he really doesn’t need one. He expects the assistant is more there to monitor him – it’s kind of bizarre because the kid, Oscar, is probably young enough to be his son. He can’t believe he’s old enough to start saying stuff like that. Anyway, the kid looks at him like he’s the best thing since the Bluetooth earpiece.

Oscar has hair like milky coffee and deep brown eyes big enough to drown in. He has elbow patches on his jacket and his jeans hang far too low over his hips. His hands are always warm (Lex knows, because they seem to touch a lot), and although he doesn’t smile much he always seems to be cheerful.

He takes Lex to the local bar (frowning when Lex expresses doubt that he’s old enough to drink) and shows him off to his geeky friends. Lex pretends to be annoyed, pretends to laugh off their praise. Pretends he doesn’t like it when Oscar kisses him hard in the alleyway beside the bar, knowing full well that he’s risking both their lives with every moment of it.

He lets the kid come to his hotel room and they share a stupid night fuelled by too much – too much alcohol, too much flattery, too much lust. When Lex wakes up in the morning he wonders what’s happening to him, because he really doesn’t recognise himself. Not even in the mirror across the room. He can see himself sitting up in the double bed with that dark shaggy head resting on his chest and it’s like watching a movie.

He gets a haircut at the tiny barbershop around the block from the hotel. The barber chats away in Spanish, too fast for Lex to catch up. He leaves feeling lighter, sideburns firmly left behind on the shop floor. 

He feels like he’s transmogrifying, like something out of a work of Kafka. When he turns the corner to walk back to hotel, he realises with a jolt that he hasn’t thought about Terri all morning.

Oscar tells him his hair looks great. He kisses Lex’s neck when they’re left alone in their work room and Lex lets him. They solve the puzzle at 2am, Oscar’s head in Lex’s lap while he frantically scrabbles with code until it all makes sense and it’s over. He’s done his job. Nobody else needs to die.

Oscar cries the night before Lex leaves, curled up on the big hotel bed with his dark eyes raised to the ceiling. Lex kisses him. He’s forgotten about being the ‘straight guy who likes show tunes’. He’s forgotten about Stiles and medication and grief. He tells himself that he hasn’t forgotten about Terri but it’s Oscar’s name on his lips. It’s Oscar who’s in his head on the flight home, smothering up his fear. Oscar and Terri blur up into one as the hours pass and he falls asleep with a horrible mix of two people, two voices. One heart.

 

 

He sulks into the doctor’s office, the next Monday morning. She looks at him and sizes him up and he gets the feeling that she knows. Just like that, without asking. He kind of hates it. 

He folds his arms and then unfolds them again because for some reason, the sleeves of his shirt smell just like a boy’s aftershave and he isn’t ready to acknowledge that yet. The minute he got off the plane what had felt so right suddenly became wrong, and he can’t even think about it.

He can hardly believe he let it happen – perhaps it was because he’s used to being the seducer, not the seduced. Oscar got to him in ways that he didn’t think were possible.

“How was El Salvador?” The doctor asks softly, head tilted on one side. “Nice haircut, by the way.”

Lex grunts, feeling like an uncommunicative teenager. 

“The mission went fine, thanks. Managed to get it all sorted. They’re talking about giving me a medal over there.” 

“Something happened.” She looks at him frankly. “Before you left, you were up to looking me in the eye. You were pretty much ready to talk to me about anything. So, what happened? What went wrong?”

Lex weighs up his options. There’s honesty, of course, but he’s always considered that to be kind of overrated. He could give her some stupid excuse. He could leave. He could tell the truth, because it’s weighing heavy on his soul and he’s already feeling crushed enough.

“I met someone.” He bites out the words and shrinks down in his chair. Somehow he gets a fresh wave of aftershave off his shirt. It chokes him.

“A boy. Man. Whatever.” He waves his hand.

She raises one eyebrow and notes something down in her little moleskin notebook.

“I didn’t know you were that way inclined.” She looks at him probingly and he looks right back, spiteful.

“I’m not. It’s not an issue, okay? Not the man thing, anyway.” It might have been at one point. But Lex is sure he isn’t the same person. He’s had more to worry about than whether or not he wants to kiss pretty boys with brown eyes for a long time.

“So if you’re not having a big gay panic, what’s the matter?” She leans forward, elbows on the table in front of her. “Lex, I really want to help you. But you know I can’t do that unless you let me in. We were so close before. So let’s try to get back there, if only for a minute. Please.”

She reminds him of Terri for a horrible minute. Lex chews on his bottom lip and tries to think of the way to say it.

“I really liked him. I really wanted him. It wasn’t just a rebound thing or whatever. I liked the way he looked at me. I liked that maybe, he wanted me more than I wanted him. But it was more than that, it was more than an ego boost. When I was with him, I started forgetting.”

He looks up at her for confirmation but she just stares at him frankly, waiting for him to bare the rest of his snipped up soul.

“I think I’m moving on.” He whispers, feeling tears budding in the corners of his eyes. He swipes at them angrily as he finds them coursing down his cheeks in little hot rivers. The doctor presses a tissue into his left hand but he barely feels it. Numbness and tears are all he can recognise, nothing else feels right or even vaguely familiar to him.

“Lex, look at me.” The doctor says gently. She waits for him to tilt his chin up, sending hot tears splashing to the table top. His bottom lip trembles horribly and all he can see is sympathy in her eyes.

“It’s ok. I promise you, it’s ok. Moving on isn’t bad, it doesn’t make you a bad person. It doesn’t mean you didn’t love her.”

A sob crashes into his chest and sends him choking, reeling. The tissue in his hand crumbles and sticks to his skin. He can feel the doctor taking his other hand, squeezing and holding onto him as tight as she can. He thinks she might be talking but he can’t be sure. Nothing feels real anymore.

When he finally stops crying and his chest feels less like it’s crashing in on itself, he looks up. The doctor meets his heavy eyes and smiles wanly.

“I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but this is good. Moving past these things is hard but the fact that you’re doing it… That’s a really good sign. I promise.”

Lex shakes his head and rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I don’t want to move on.” He mutters, letting his head fall back. “I don’t. It feels so wrong.”

“It’s natural. Nobody expects you to spend the rest of your life in mourning. You’re still young. Don’t you want that for yourself? Happiness?”

“No.” He responds stubbornly. “Not if Terri isn’t. Not if she can’t be.”

The doctor smiles sadly. “She isn’t going to come back, Lex. And you’re going to be here for a hell of a long time. A long time, being alone. I think you deserve to move on and to find what you need from life.”

Lex bows his head. “I know you’re right. But I don’t want this. It’s tearing me apart and I can’t deal with all this, all over again.”

“Falling in love is never easy, but it’s never the same. Every time is different. Who knows? Maybe this time will be the time for you.” The doctor stares him down. “Don’t you want to find out?”

Lex returns with a slight nod. He feels shattered and exhausted, like he couldn’t stand unaided if he tried. It feels like the end of the world. He stumbles out of the doctor’s office and covers his face with his hands, unwilling or unable to see and feel.

 

He hardly notices the hand that squeezes his bicep, gently drawing him out of himself. Millie looks him in the eye and holds onto him, hard. Her voice is just as firm as her grip.

“You’re going to be ok, Lex. Because you have to be. Because we’re not letting you go. You deserve to live. And love. And you will.”

Or perhaps, Lex thinks, this is the beginning. And explosion of life from one catastrophic moment – the creation of the world. He lets Millie put her arms around him and hold him close. He doesn’t ask why she’s there or why she cares, he just clings to her hard. It feels like she’s the only friend he has in the world in that moment. Stiles is a million miles away, and the others are worlds away too. It’s just him, and Millie’s arm around him, and the way she’s still managing to care.

“I get it.” Millie whispers, pushing his hair off his face and forcing him to meet her eyes. “I know. And I’m here for you, always. So don’t you dare give up on yourself.”

“I don’t know what to do.” Lex mumbles, trying to turn his face away. She won’t let him.

“I think you do.” Millie squeezes his shoulders. “So go do it, before I loose my patience. Okay?”

 

Lex leaves the building with a tear streamed face and exhaustion tapping at every muscle of his body. He walks home, hardly seeing the sidewalk or the people beneath him and around him. He’s never had an outer body experience before but this is sure starting to feel like one. He isn’t surprised – nothing could surprise now, he feels like he’s seen it all.

He blinks and finds himself standing by the large window in his apartment. His phone is clutched in his left hand and he can’t remember getting there.

He knows it’s time to do it, that if he waits then he’ll miss out on this chance. He knows that Terri would want him to do (she’d be shaking him by the shoulder and telling him to rip his head out of his ass). It doesn’t make his task any easier, especially since the fibres of his body feel strange and foreign to him now.

He tells himself that this is what Terri would have wanted for him, and that’s the only thing that makes him sure he can do it. He walks out onto the balcony to stare down onto the city, the warm lights flickering into life. Somehow it doesn’t feel so distant and cold anymore. Lex thinks maybe it’s the city that understands him better than anyone else.

When he dials the number he feels like he’s looking at himself from far away, like it’s a different version of himself standing there with the phone cradled up against his ear. Somehow, though, he knows exactly what he’s going to say into the phone in the seconds before it happens.

“Lo siento. Estoy listo ahora.” 

Sorry. I’m ready now. Stupid, small words. Words that mean too much and too little all at once. Words that make the boy at the end of the line cry and laugh all at once. Little words which are about to change their lives, if Lex will only let them. And he has a feeling that he will. 

He presses his hot hands onto the metal bar before him on the balcony and watches cars drifting around below him. The air dries his tears for him. He doesn’t stop to wonder why he’s crying – he thinks, not for the first time, that it might be love.

It feels different to the last time. And not wrong.

 

Butterfly weed. Lily of the Valley. Green locust tree. Pink rose buds. Purple Hyacinth.

A strange mix. The florist didn’t ask questions, merely smiled and put together the bouquet with skill and swiftness. She squeezed Lex’s hand gently before he left the shop, nodding like she understood. Lex feels comforted in the knowledge that what he’s doing isn’t stupid – not to her, anyway. 

He opens the gate to the cemetery and steps inside through the properly designated entrance for the first time. It feels strange to be there in the broad light of the day. The sun filters softly through the leaves and plays with the shadows on the grass. Graves, monuments and statues large and small litter the dewy ground. Lex wonders how he’d never noticed how crowded the place was before. 

It’s strange to see other people there, too. Funeral goers in black, visiting relatives with wreaths and candles. A little girl holding onto her father’s hand and staring with large eyes at the stone angel standing guard over her mother’s grave.

When Lex reaches Terri’s tree his eyes are full of tears – not for himself, this time. Not even for Terri. For the little girl and her father. For all the others with their handfuls of grief. For the first time in a long time he finds his mind very far away from his own problems.

He kneels down at the base of the tree and lays his bouquet of flowers there, touching the trunk. He closes his eyes and breaths soft, quiet. 

“I’m sorry, Terri.” The wind ruffles through his hair and prickles the back of his neck. “I love you. I do. But not in the way I did before.” He lets his fingers brush the bark of the tree steadily. “I wish you were still here. You had so much left to do with your life. We all have so much more to give, but you… you had more than anyone else.”

He stands up straight with his face to the breeze. “I have to keep living, because you can’t and I can.”

The breeze caresses his cheek for a moment and holds him in place. It lets him go slowly, gently pushing him away. It feels like forgiveness and acceptance. Lex doesn’t stumble when he walks away, and he doesn’t cry. Despite the fragility of his heart, he doesn’t crack or break or tremble.

“We’re going to be ok.” He says to nobody in particular, tilting his face to the wind. And although he isn’t quite smiling, he thinks he must look happy, deep down inside.

Oscar is waiting for him by the gate, one hand on the edge of Lex’s motorcycle with a kind of tender look on his face. Lex’s heart swells slightly in his chest when Oscar looks up and breaks into a smile at the sight of him.

Lex holds out his hand for Oscar to take and they wind their fingers together for a long moment. It all fits into place somehow, the breeze twisting around their joined hands and keeping them together. When the breeze lets them go, Lex smiles and squeezes Oscar’s shoulder.

“Let’s go home.”


End file.
